


After all this time

by ightybug



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sherlock's Mind Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ightybug/pseuds/ightybug
Summary: Inspired by Sherlock Series 4 promo hell. Angsty, sad Sherlock eventually comes to a very important realization.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Sherlock Series 4 promo hell. Angsty, sad Sherlock eventually comes to a very important realization.

Sherlock sprinted from one corridor of his mind palace to another trying to find a solution. A way out of the mess that, if he was being honest, he had created. It had happened so slowly over the course of years as to almost be unnoticeable.

He couldn’t shake the feeling. There was something, some piece of information hidden just out of reach. Misplaced in the dark, maybe lodged beneath the refrigerator with a lost thumb or some such. A vague sense of unpleasantness kept him from looking too closely. 

“It’s always an experiment with you, isn’t it? Still. After all this time...” 

John’s parting words before storming out the door. Disgusted. Angry. And now that he had gone, Sherlock never knew if he’d be back. John had a life of his own these days. Sherlock should have foreseen that, should have expected. It’s the very least he deserved for having disappeared without a word for two years. 

Sherlock retreated further; John’s words echoing in the flooding hallways of his mind. Water seeping in through the cracks beneath doors, leaking through the seams surrounding windows while his most self-critical voices guided him onward. 

“Don’t open those ones or you won’t survive.” 

“There is no lifeboat here to save you and if you slip beneath the surface you will lose the ability to breathe. Have it stolen away like a toy, like a treasure, like the life you desperately dreamed of living.”

Happy. Together. 

“You know better than to believe in dreams, don’t you? Especially the happy ones. Such things were never meant for the likes of you.” 

“You’ll always be more suited to slogging through this bleak, cold world observing every minute detail and trying so hard not to try, not to hope, not to let on that you are soaked to the bone and freezing to death.” 

“You need to try harder.”

There had to be a solution here somewhere. There was always a solution. Whether it was one he wanted to hear mattered not at all. He had to keep moving past the pain, past discomfort. Feelings were for normal people and he had known from a very early age that he was decidedly not normal. That had been decided for him long ago.

He ran until he found an open door. Maybe salvation rested just on the other side. His rational mind knew better, but in this state even he could not help himself from falling. For wishful thinking, for dreams of redemption. Fantasies of blind faith and saving grace. 

In a room full of golden light and what should have been warmth was a mirror just like a mirror he had looked in many times before. Reflected therein were his dearest hopes, the quietest moments, all the soft words never spoken. He saw himself reflected over the shoulder of a steady, sandy-haired soldier who somehow put up with him, who had proved to be the one who could pull him out of his spiraling, chaotic mind but who he could never let in fully to his heart. 

He had pushed away romantic notions long ago. His heart was nothing more or less important than the rest of his transport; the muscle that keeps blood circulating. He never gave an extra thought to how vital it was to keeping brain and body alive. But here he was, suddenly face to face with the revelation that John Watson was his heart personified. Steady, stable, pragmatic.

John is there and Sherlock’s mouth is dry. John smiles and Sherlock’s words fall away before he even knows what he is saying.

“I love you.”

Sherlock’s eyes startled open to find a hand on the side of his face and deep blue eyes filled with concern looking back. 

“Sherlock, speak to me. Are you okay? What have you taken?”

Pulse racing, panic overtaking him. 

“Please say I didn’t say that out loud,” he thought, certain his thoughts were amplified enough for John to hear. It was so clear in his mind he was pretty sure it had been shouted from rooftops to the whole of London. He focused on trying to calm his breath while simultaneously cataloging the feel of John’s skin touching his. 

All too quickly, John pulled his hand back. As much as Sherlock wanted to grab it and reattach it to his face, to hold it palm splayed against the evidence of the steady, beating heart inside his chest, he resisted the urge. 

John was still scrutinizing him with that look of, what was it? Disappointment? Disillusionment? While he may not be a genius, there was something about the way John held his emotions tucked away, protected and safe, that made him nearly impossibly to decipher. It was for the best anyway. Sherlock knew he could never be what John deserved, even if he was able to provide the danger and excitement he craved. 

“Come on, Sherlock. What was it?” John demanded, in a voice a little too broken to be strident and commanding. He would never do anything but let John down. 

He let his eyes glide back to the plaid shirt and the sandy hair and the face that comprised what felt like lifetimes of longing. “Nothing.”

John let out a sigh. 

“Nothing. I swear.” There was no way in hell he was going to admit to getting high on the endorphin rush of unlocking the mystery of what John truly meant to him. 

“How long have you been sitting here? Your tea’s gone cold.” 

“How long has it been since you left?” Sherlock asked, truly unsure of how long he had been lost down the deluged, darkened hallways of his mind. 

“Christ, Sherlock. I’ve been gone for two days. Clearly, nothing ever changes.” John said with a mixture of exasperation and, what was it? Amusement? Certainly not fondness, that would be too dear to hope. 

John made to stand up and turn away and Sherlock felt another spike of panic. If John left again, well, he didn’t want to think about what his life would look like then. 

“John…” he gasped, sitting up and reaching out to grab a sleeve, a shirt tail, a belt loop, anything to physically tether himself to the reality of John’s presence. 

“I heard you,” John said quietly, allowing himself to be drawn back in. 

Embarrassment flooded Sherlock’s body as swiftly as if he had opened any of those watery doors in his mind palace. He blinked wildly, processing the situation and hoping it didn’t mean what he thought. That he had finally pushed John too far and lost him forever. Hoping he could get himself out of this mess yet. 

Through the rush of self-conscious dread, he felt the solid warmth of John’s hand return to his face. Sherlock took a deep breath to make himself brave. He returned John’s gaze; forced his eyes not to dart away. 

“I heard you.” John said, a little louder this time. “And I love you, too.”


End file.
